Protecting Mum
by Avah
Summary: Chapter two in my story "Mums The Word". Sherlock and Watson strive to keep Mrs. Holmes oblivious to the danger she's in. Will they capture the ruffian threatening Mrs. Holmes' life?


Authors Note: Wheeee! Im back. The number of reviews I got inspired me. It really is what keeps me writing sometimes. I think I know where this fic is going to go, I have some sort of idea forming into my mind (I know, scary isn't it?). Ha, looks like you have to just read. By the way, sorry it took me SO long to write, I was betta reading some of Insanity-Bob's fiction. He is an awesome author!

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            I was consumed with the desire to ask Holmes what his situation was with the threat on his mother. 

            "Watson, bring your gun." He said walking towards the door. 

            "To the theater?" I asked.

            "I assure you, Dear Friend, you have every reason to bring it." 

            We walked to our cab that was waiting for us. I sat in silence as we trotted our way to the theater house.

            "Aren't you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked irritably. Usually Holmes enjoyed it when he confided his cases with me. I was a bit disappointed he was shutting me out.

            "Very well Watson, but I'm afraid it must be hasty." He said leaning back in the cab.  "They are common sort of criminals, both in some sort of gang. It appears that we had solved a case causing one of their friends to go to jail, that much could be predicted if you had used my methods." 

            He half shut his eyes, relaxing himself as I patiently waited for him to recall all of the events.

            "I asked you to bring the gun Watson because they know that my mother is going to be at the theater tonight."

            "But how?" I asked.

            "The boat my mother was on, she was talking to a passenger, that's how they know all about her. No doubt some stranger made inquiries and she told them her business here. You can always count on a woman to share the most personal information to a stranger."

            I ignored his last comment, seeing how a debate on women was not quite timely. 

            "So she mentioned you. So she's totally ignorant of the danger of being connected with you." I said in awe. "How did you find this all out Holmes?"

            "When I followed them," he said while running his fingers on his cane " I was sure to find them in a bar. Watson, never get drunk, for it is a curse to free your tongue on such secretes that are to be kept silent. Ah, I see we have arrived. Whatever you do, do not let anyone see the gun-especially my mother. Keep it in your coat pocket."

            I did as he said and felt the gun in my pocket, and wondered just what part it would play in this depressing tale. Mrs. Holmes arrived in a carriage two minutes after us. 

            "Holmes, didn't she start off before us?" I asked him in a whisper. 

            "Indeed you are right. I paid the driver to go in circles until we arrived." He murmured back. 

            Mrs. Holmes was now out of the cab, mumbling crossly how a cabdriver could get lost in the local area. When she came in contact with us she brightened considerably. 

"Do I have the honor of being led by these two wonderful young men?" she said as we both offered her our arms.

            As we walked in, someone offered to take our coats. I almost handed him mine until I remembered that there was a gun in it. I put it behind my back, careful so the man wouldn't mistake me for handing it to him. At once I admired the elegant theater, colored in rich velvet- truly a man of the arts was in his element there.   

            "My dear mother," said Holmes as we made our way up the crowded stairs. "Please make yourself comfortable while I get a brandy. Our seats are in the middle of the first row."

            I escorted her to our seats with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. No doubt Holmes was not having a brandy, but purchasing his mother's life with his brilliant gift of analysis and deduction. 

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            The play had already started, and I saw neither head nor tail of my friend. As much I as wished to look for him, I wouldn't have ever left Mrs. Holmes alone. Holmes came back to his seat next to mine, looking very smug.

            "Watson, we have got the cat in the bag." He whispered into my ear. "I'm afraid that our ruffian will tumble into the hands of our ever humble friend, Inspector Lestrade. You need not worry about the gun."

              "Lestrade?" I said, the skepticism was thick in my voice. 

            Holmes' face dropped.

            "Watson, you disappoint me. I am very well aware of Lestrade's history." He said low tone. " The page is the murderer's companion. He is the look out."

            "The page?" 

            "Don't you see it Watson? The commotion of his arrest will have the murderer in panic. We are not dealing with professionals. The murderer will have a gun; a history of crime, and we already know he has a motive. We also know he will escape through the trap door."  

            "Why the trap door?" I asked in awe.

            "Because, my dear Watson, at this very moment he is standing on it." Said Holmes.

            Before I could exclaim my surprise, there was a very loud whistle, and the voices of men permeating through the hallway. Everyone turned their heads in confusion, however, I saw Holmes rush off the balcony stairs, and looking down a second later, I saw the figure of my friend running towards the stage.

            The man on stage had frozen. In a short panic he had fumbled with the trapdoor latch. Holmes was on him in an instant; grabbing the potential murderer around the coat, Holmes dragged him to the ground. I rushed downstairs, leaving my elderly companion, and called for Lestrade. A moment later Lestrade rushed up to the man Holmes was containing, and cuffed him.

            "Great work Inspector." Said Holmes smiling fully. "You will find the gun in his left trouser pocket. I was able to keep his hands behind his back, though I was not able enough to grab the weapon."

            "Well Holmes, you've managed to cause an uproar, but you have gotten another yob off the streets. You've also got me more paperwork tonight." Lestrade said. "It'll take me all night to report such an event." 

            "I'm sure the paperwork will fly by as you compose the draft of your victory." Said Holmes patting Lestrade on the back.

            "You don't want the credit?" asked Lestrade confused.

            "Oh my dear chap, it was more your effort than mine." Said Holmes.

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            Mrs. Holmes was still tutting over the affair after we arrived at Baker Street. 

            "And that poor theater company is going to suffer. Imagine! A criminal caught in the theater! Such a wicked world…" She fumed. 

            I grinned softly, taking notes here and there on our adventure as Holmes sucked on his fingernail. No doubt he was itching for a pipe, but he knew better than blow smoke in a room with his mother fussing about. 

            "And if someone got hurt, may lightning strike me if Doctor Watson was not at their side in an instant." She said with a note of pride.

            "Yes of course." I answered feeling quite embarrassed at the complement. 

            "Mother. Your cab has just arrived." Said Holmes.

            "Oh, Sherlock, thank you very much dear." She said as he put her coat on her. "I had a lovely time with you both, not even death itself can keep me from visiting my boy." 

            We said our goodbyes, promised we would write, and Mrs. Holmes left kissing us both on the cheek.

            "Holmes," I asked when she had gone. "How did you know that the page was the murderers companion? And how on earth did you know who the murderer was?"

            "My dear Watson, did you not notice the many people still carrying their coats? We were a target. I took a full inspection of the theater while you were tending my mother. There was not a coat room to be found." He said litting his pipe and breathing it deeply in slow, happy puffs.  

            "Well what about the murderer himself?" I asked.

            He closed his eyes lazily, smirking.

            "That was more theory on my part. No doubt you know that actors, when they are too ill to play a part, have a backup. I visited the theater earlier today and looked at the paper they had laid out with the actor's names written on them. When looking in the paper that was given to us entering the theater later this evening, there was one name changed that was not written on the paper that was printed earlier today. Thus, we found our murderer."

            "Brilliant Holmes." I said sitting back in my chair in awe.

            "Elementary my dear Watson." 

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Authors Note: I really hope that worked out well for you guys. I enjoyed writing it very much, I hope you liked it too.


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